


Take Me Home, Bring Me Down Tonight

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people are not quite what they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Home, Bring Me Down Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> prompt from happiestlittlegnome on tumblr: Sam, who’s never fucked a man before, goes to a bar to find a submissive-looking guy to dominate. He picks up a quiet guy called Lucifer and brings him home. When they get into the bedroom, he find out he has no idea what he’s dealing with. (really wants to top)Sam/(obviously not going to let that happen)Lucifer. Hopefully Sam ends up enjoying it.

The man says his name is Nick, and he seems quiet enough. Not the talkative type, although that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Because Sam's looking for something in particular, looking to blow off steam. It's been a hard week at the office, one of those weeks when he feels like all he's done is screw people over because his bosses told him to. He's sick and tired of having other people tell him what to do, sick of feeling like he's getting further and further away from the sort of lawyer he'd always wanted to be. He wants this small bit of control back.

He's never done this before, to be honest. Not with a guy. He'd sucked cock more than a few times, back in college, and if he's being honest, he hadn't minded so much. But he's never fucked a guy before.

Nick seems meek, though, seems willing enough to let Sam have what he wants. There's something a bit crumpled about his face, like he's seen dark things, things that might have broken him a bit. It doesn't matter. Sam's not interested in his personal story.

"You want to get out of here?" he asks, and Nick nods.

They make it back to Nick's motel without event, and it's only when he shuts the door that something in Nick's face changes. His shoulders seem to unbend, and a slow smile spreads across his face. Sam has enough time to think that he might have gotten himself into something he wasn't expecting when Nick pushes him down on the bed, climbs on top of him and holds his wrists down. 

He's strong, surprisingly strong, and the past few months sitting at a desk have left Sam a bit less in-shape that he's used to being, and no matter how he twists, he can't get his wrists free.

He glares up at Nick. "No," he says, scowls further when his struggles only seem to amuse Nick. "Get off," he says, "I'm not—"

"Not what, Sam?" Nick says, voice low and dark. "Not the kind of guy who takes it up the ass?" He chuckles lightly. "Let me tell you, sweetheart, I think you're exactly that kind of guy."

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind," Sam says tightly, and his efforts to free himself are only serving to twist his cock against Nick's, and he's a little horrified that his erection's not waning at all from this.

"No," he says, grip painfully tight around Sam's wrists. "You thought you'd find a nice, shy, unassuming guy, someone who'd let you really sink into them, let out all your frustration. Hard day at work, is it? And you thought you'd just take that all out on me, is that what you thought? You thought maybe I wouldn't mind if you got a little rough, so long as I was getting off. Just so long as you could keep the control, is that right, Sammy? It wasn't even about getting off, was it, just about taking back a little control."

He's stopped struggling, but his body's still tense, a hot blush flooding his cheeks. Nick leans in, breath hot and flaring against Sam's face, and very gently he kisses him on the lips.

"That's what you wanted," Nick says. "But it's not what you needed." The look in his eyes is hungry, promises danger. "You're going to let me fuck you. Because you need someone to control you, you need someone holding you down, telling you what to do. You hate it, but you do. Don't deny it, Sammy, I can tell when you lie to me." He moves off, nudges Sam until he turns over onto his stomach, settles himself back between Sam's thighs. "You're going to _enjoy_ this, too. I'm going to make sure of that. Going to make sure you get off from this. You need to let go a little, Sam, let yourself enjoy things sometimes."

There's something imperceptibly soothing about his voice, and Sam finds himself relaxing in spite of himself. "It's okay," Nick continues, "you just didn't know what you needed. I do, though. I know you, Sammy, I know what you need, what's best for you." And when Nick spreads his cheeks apart and licks him open, his tongue so hot and working so deep, he can't help but bury his face in the pillow, choking down a sob.

"That's it," he coaxes, "let go." He's adding fingers now, too, and his hands are rough and calloused, making Sam wonder distantly what he does for a living, what those hands are used to doing. He stretches Sam open with patience, fingers slick and slippery, teasing him open, his tongue and fingers so clever, so able to find all the parts of him that turn him into a quivering mess, and Sam wonders how much practice he's had at this. "Like you were made for me, weren't you?" Nick says, as though he knows exactly what Sam's thinking.

"You think you're ready for me?" he asks, and it's in a small, weak voice that Sam answers, "Yes."

"Good," Nick says, and then he's pushing into Sam, slowly, giving him time to adjust to the intrusion. And it hurts, it's a deep burn, leaving him gasping into the sheets, and he's not sure he can take this. "You can do this," Nick says softly, gently, "you're doing so well, look so perfect like this. It's going to be okay. I know you can do this. Come on, sweetheart, you're taking me so beautifully." And that's all the encouragement Sam needs, really, to take a deep breath, consciously trying to relax himself around Nick's cock. After the first push, it's easier, Nick fitting into him like another part of himself, another piece that was missing, filling him up.

Nick murmurs filthy praise as he fucks Sam, and it's shameful how he's melting under the attention. "You look so good like this," he says, "you're so tight and wet, it's so beautiful, Sam," and he's practically purring under it. "No one else appreciates you, is that it? If only they could see you like this, Sam, see what I see. It's like you were made for this, for this and this alone," he says, which should feel degrading, but just feels like another kind of praise. Nick is fucking him in earnest, now, each stroke going so deep, and he's shocked by how much he hadn't known he needed _this_.

"Fuck," he says experimentally, and then, "Jesus, _Nick_." He lets out a long, shaking groan when the next stroke brushes up against his prostate.

"Come on now, Sammy," Nick says, thrusting into him deeper, harder, faster, and he can't hold back a sob. There are tears on his face, he thinks, but he can't quite bring himself to feel ashamed, not when he's got Nick thrusting into him, so hot and so deep, and it's so _good_. "Come for me," Nick says, and it's tone of command that tips him over the edge, coming _hard_ against his stomach and the sheets.

"You don't know how beautiful that was," Nick is gasping, thrusting into Sam's lax body, where he's got his face pressed into the pillow, recovering his breath, "seeing you lose control like that. So _gorgeous_ —" And then he's shaking apart where he's buried inside Sam.

Sam's not expecting it when Nick leans down, strokes a hand through his hair and presses cool lips to his forehead. He sits up, feeling sleepy and well-fucked, casting about for his clothes.

"You don't need to go," Nick says suddenly. "I'm not just going to fuck you and kick you out. You can stay. If you want."

And Sam considers it. He really considers it, because he feels safe like this, with Nick, this strange man who he's just let fuck him. He sighs. "I have work I need to get back to."

"It's Friday. How much work can you have?"

"Believe me," Sam says, "there's enough."

Nick nods, but pulls a pen and a pad out of the motel drawer and scribbling something across it. He crosses the room, kissing Sam and tucking the paper into the top pocket of his shirt. "My number," he says. "For the next time you need to let go a little."

Sam nods. He recognizes this for what it is—a potential pattern to be repeated. He doesn't so much mind. He knows, at least, that he's going to go home, tuck the paper into his wallet, keep it safe for next time.

**Author's Note:**

> ugh i have all this stuff that i posted on tumblr but never got around to posting here  
> here is some of it


End file.
